


To Build On Ruins

by SillyBlue



Series: Lamb!Cas Verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Dean Winchester, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bad Parenting, Brotherly Affection, Claiming Bites, Crimes & Criminals, Dean in Glasses, Forced Submission, Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Non-Graphic Violence, Pack Politics, Post-War, Sick Dean Winchester, Sick Sam Winchester, Slurs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-27
Updated: 2017-05-06
Packaged: 2018-10-24 16:35:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10745595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SillyBlue/pseuds/SillyBlue
Summary: When Dean comes of age, he's presented with a choice that is supposed to keep the Winchester pack strong and unified: exile or submission. With war having recently ended and the winter being bitter and dangerous for a young exiled alpha, Dean doesn't really have a choice but to submit. But less than four years later Sam is presented with the same impossible question and Dean's forced to act.





	1. Exile or Submission! Choose, wolf.

**Author's Note:**

> This story sets the foundation of Dean's background for my lamb!Verse stories. You don't need to know anything about the verse to be able to understand this. The people in this verse come with more than just animal instincts; they have additional animal features. Otherwise this reads like a totally normal, serious story ;D
> 
> The fic will probably have three parts. Two chapters are written and the third is outlined in detail. So you shouldn't have to wait too long for updates!

Lawrence, Winchester. '97

Maybe it was just his imagination, but this winter felt more dreary and colder than any other winter Dean had experienced. A couple of pipes had burst with the ice, leaving houses in the poorer district with no water. The rations of wood that the pack leader distributed annually to each family under his care were hardly enough this year. Their stocks were diminishing rapidly. Dean had seen the storage unit, a gaping void where there should be stacks upon stacks of firewood. It was the end of January now, hardly the end of winter.

He swung his arms, beating them against his chest as if he could force the cool air out of his jacket and keep only the heat in. In some regards, Dean had no reason to complain.Their family lived in a nice house and Dean's clothes and shoes were good enough for this weather. Sammy was always warm, there was food on the table, hot water and no ice on the walls. Still, Dean had his small suitcase packed and hidden behind his bed.

He shivered violently, coming to a stop because he felt the shiver down to his toes. The snow fell heavily down on him, past the winter bare trees. The fence of the inner boundary was to his left. He could see some of the guards linger by a fire, talking quietly and sipping from their flasks. There was nothing but empty fields and some sad looking bare shrubs and trees for the next couple hundred meters. Anything that would come their way would be instantly visible. Winter was not a dangerous year for Winchester territory. Too far up north for anyone to try invade them or rob their storages. He stomped on through the snow, circling the territory.

It was his birthday, but it hadn't been a good day in years and he dreaded the ceremony that was to follow this evening. He tried to think about the small suitcase again, nervously wiggling his fingers in his gloves. Ellen had pulled him into a side street earlier today. Through an open window steam poured and the noise of rattling machinery nearly drowned out their conversation. Dean's mind had gone numb with the absurdity of it; of Ellen making something secret and shameful out of it. She had given him a bundle wrapped in brown paper and string. Clothes, non-perishable rations that she had saved over the last weeks, maps. She had given the bundle to him with a sad expression, unable to even fake an encouraging smile. Dean remembered her cool hand on his cheek before she had told him to "run, quick". Dean had slowly made his way through the main street, back to their house. He had gone up the stairs and put the bundle in the suitcase. Then he went back out to do his work.

Dean came to a stop on the road that would lead back into the town, being swallowed by fog and slowly dissipating smoke. Then he turned around to the gate and the hazy land that lay before him. So much Winchester land. Would he even make it out of the country before hunger or cold or despair would overtake him?

Dean turned on his heels and walked into town. Factory buildings lined the wide road, but night was falling now. The fumes and the rattling of the machinery had stopped for the day and this part of town was deserted without the workers. It was a long walk through dreary looking districts, cold and grey, with sooth darkened snow piling in the shadow of the buildings where the faint sun never reached. The road was wet and slippery. There was a light and some noise up ahead. Dean took a turn after the pub but he saw the many faded flyers and announcements fixed to the walls.

"24 January: Coming of Age ceremony of Dean Winchester. Town square, 8 PM!!"

Dean felt his stomach turn, spikes of cold anxiety punching the air from his lungs. Why did it have to be so public? Why was this humiliation made into a spectacle for all of Lawrence to see? He resisted the urge to pull down the paper. But there was no point. Everyone knew that it was his 18th birthday. Everyone knew that today he had to choose.

"Dean!" Dean looked up to see his little brother running towards him, his ears perked up and with no hat.

"Sam, you're not supposed to be in this part of town," Dean hissed and pulled his own hat from his head to put it on his brother's. The young boy pushed him away and tossed the hat back at Dean. It fell to the floor and into the dirty slush. Dean frowned, then he bent down to pick it back up.

"Where have you been? Shouldn't you be preparing?" the boy said in an accusatory tone and Dean was so tired all of a sudden. He started walking and after a moment Sam fell in step with him.

"I had work to do," he said and his brother snorted. "Dad told me to reset the traps around the inner border and check the post office for letters to deliver to the inner-city distribution."

"Dad sends you out to work on the day of your coming of age ceremony? That's rich!" Sam snapped as if it was Dean's fault. "He probably just wanted to intimidate you, so that you didn't have time to prepare. But I know you prepared weeks ago. Right?" Dean didn’t say anything.

"It's not right," his little brother continued, "to make you choose like this! But surely you can't stay, Dean! It's archaic!" Dean wondered if Sam honestly thought that Dean didn't know that. "You're an alpha! Making you submit in a show of public humiliation is just sick!"

"Sam," Dean started, coming to a stop and closing his eyes for a moment. Sam came to a stop too and when Dean looked at him the boy seemed worried. Dean felt horrible. "I still have stuff to do." Sam opened his mouth right away but Dean talked over him: "We'll see each other later, right?" he said gently. Sam frowned at him, like he was disappointed that Dean would brush him off. But in the end he nodded and left. Dean watched him go, only allowing himself to let his shoulders drop when Sam was out of sight. Sam was a relatively happy 14-year-old, blessedly unpresented and studious. He dreamt of going to university and seeing the world. He was full of ideals and contempt for the increasingly old fashioned way their father governed their pack. Sam didn't understand the position Dean was in. Dean loved his brother and the thought of leaving him here all alone made his stomach turn. Who would look out for him? Dad and Sam were already butting heads over everything even though Sam was still unpresented. Who would be there to protect Sam when his own coming of age ceremony inevitably put him in Dean's place? Bobby or Ellen? They weren't strong enough to contradict John now, too concerned that their pack would fall apart if their leader was overthrown. And Mom?

Dean passed their house and went straight to the hospital. It was already 7 PM and Dean was feeling worse with every minute that passed. Nobody paid Dean much heed as he walked through the drafty corridors until he reached Mary Winchester's room. He pushed open the door. A cold wind blew towards him and he quickly closed the door.

"Mom!" Dean said and hurried past the pale woman sitting in a chair and pushed the window closed. "You'll freeze in here." Mary didn't react to Dean, not when he pulled thick blankets out of the closet and put them over her, nor when he carefully tucked her hands into mittens. "There…" She vacantly looked towards the now closed window and Dean sat on the floor at her feet. He hoped for something, anything. The door opened, the hinges making a sound of protest.

"Oh dear, it's cold in here." Dean saw nurse Kate come into the room, carrying a tray with her.

"She must have opened the window. I just got here and closed it," Dean said, not bothering to rise from the floor. Nurse Kate studied him for a moment, different expressions flitting over her face, but then she turned away to put the tray on the small table next to Mary's bed.

"We can't have that Mary, you'll only get pneumonia on top of the Sulphur sickness. You'd waste away and leave your poor boys all alone," Kate admonished and poured a cup of tea that she handed to Mary. "Drink up," she said and Mary obeyed. "Good girl," Kate praised and took the cup out of Mary's hands again. Mary growled softly, a warning or a protest to the patronizing words. But she quickly calmed down again, attention straying and her eyes taking on the usual faraway look.

"Dean, shouldn't you be at home?" Kate asked when Dean moved closer to Mary and put his hand on her knees. She didn't react when he touched her.

"I want to be here," Dean said and looked up at his mother, her pale face surrounded by her open blonde hair that the nurses combed every day. They took good care of her. "Is she never going to get better?"

"She didn't die, so there's still hope that she'll get better. But there's not much we can do," Kate said what Dean already knew. The nurse stood by Mary's chair for a while, but in the end she silently retreated to give Dean some privacy. Did nurse Kate think that Dean would leave? Maybe he should.

"If you were well you wouldn't let this happen to me, right mom?" Dean asked, putting his head on her lap. Mary didn't react but when Dean looked up Mary was looking at him, like she didn't know who he was and why he was with her. She squirmed lightly, as if she picked up on his distress.

"I'm going to die out there, won't I? Do you want that, mom?" Mary was now starting to growl again. Pain streaked through Dean but then he felt anger follow quickly behind. He got up on his feet and stared down at her, feeling his eyes itch. "Why aren't you protecting me? Mom! Why aren't you protecting me!" She stared at him with wide eyes, ears pressed flat on her head. The door opened and Kate looked in with a worried expression. Dean felt the urge to bare his teeth, but in the end he firmly kept his mouth shut and left his mother. The moment he stepped away her entire frame relaxed again as if Dean had never been there.

"Come now. I can make you something warm to drink," Kate said gently and put her hand on Dean's shoulder, turning him away from Mary's room. Dean wiped his hands over his face.

"Okay," he said hoarsely and nurse Kate gave his shoulder an encouraging squeeze. Dean let his head fall back against the wall with a dull thud. He didn't want to hear any placating words from Kate so he shoved his hands into his jacket's pockets and walked away.

He knew that it had been foolish to hope that his mother would somehow shake off her illness and sweep in to protect him. But hoped he had and now he left with his heart even heavier than before.

* * *

It was almost pitch black now, the street lamps faint in the fog that drew up from the docks. Around Dean people were already making their move towards the main square. The fog lifted when he got into the better part of town and Dean could no longer fade into the masses. People shot him looks, pained, knowing. Dean couldn't take it, the heavy pounding of his heart and the scents of them all around him made him stumble into the nearest alley.

Suddenly, Jo was at his side, coming out of nowhere as always, rubbing his back as he threw up. Dean wiped his mouth and shot her a look. She held out a handkerchief to him and he took it to wipe the bile and cold sweat off his face. She was about the same age as Sam and shouldn't be allowed outside on her own.

"Why can't we just run away?" Jo said before Dean could ask where her mom was.

"What…?" Jo tugged as his arm.

"Let's just go now! Don't do this ceremony, Dean!" She pointed her arm into a vague direction. "Leave Winchester, for warmer lands!"

"It's winter everywhere," he reminded her and Jo stomped her feet in irritation. "And you're too young to come with me. I wouldn't be able to take care of you." Jo narrowed her eyes at him, almost as if she was offended at the idea that she couldn't fend for herself. "Exiled young alphas don't survive out there," Dean told her and her feisty expression slipped into concern. "It's been less than two years since the war has ended. The world out there is still a mess, otherwise dad wouldn't have so much work to do. Nobody is going to take in someone as destabilizing as a packless, inexperienced alpha."

"Exactly!" Jo shouted and Dean frowned at her. "It's basically a death sentence! If the choice is between submission and death it's no choice at all! It's not right!" she shrieked, drawing the attention of some people who passed by the alley. But people ducked their heads and continued on when they saw them. Jo's eyes were shining with tears of frustration. Dean couldn't stand seeing her cry, so he got up on his feet and smiled at her. Put on his brave face.

"Hey… It's going to be alright, Jo," he told her and Jo shook her head stubbornly. "It's not going to last forever."

"But it'll have lasting consequences, Dean…! You're an alpha! You're supposed to be allowed to be an alpha!" Dean didn't know what to say to this, because dread was threatening to pull his stomach apart. He was saved from coming up with an answer by Bobby appearing in the alley.

"There you guys are!" he said sternly and Jo looked up at once. "Jo, your momma is waiting for you! Get your face cleaned up." Jo hesitated but Dean nodded at her and then she ran past Bobby. "Come now. We've got 15 minutes to make you look presentable,"  he said and put his arm around Dean, leading him out of the alley and into his house a bit removed from the main square.

"Why do I have to be presentable? They might as well see me covered in puke. They'll pretend that this is all fun and games anyway. They'll just have to try a bit harder," Dean muttered. Bobby stopped from filling his sink with hot water to stare at Dean, his expression unreadable. In the end he pulled his hat further down in his face and dunked a wash cloth into the hot water. Ellen showed up quickly after, but Jo wasn't around. Maybe she was already on the square, having taken her seat. Ellen gave him a quick wash and combed his hair. She straightened his clothes and patted his cheeks to bring some life back into his deadly pale face.

"There, you look perfect," Ellen says, voice full of emotion. After a long moment of hesitation, she reached out to opened the first button of his shirt for Dean.

"I don't feel prefect," Dean admitted and Ellen made a small, wounded sound.

"It's not supposed to be this way," she said softly and Dean lifted his head.

"Then why isn't anyone doing anything about it?" Dean challenged, glaring at both adults. Neither Bobby nor Ellen could give him a good answer. He deflated. "It's Winchester law now. Nobody cares if it's right or wrong." Nobody argued with him.

* * *

Pack alpha John Winchester was standing on the square, illuminated by spotlights. He smelled like gun powder, as if he had come straight out of the factories, like smoke. For Dean he looked like a grim, dark figure with hard eyes. Bobby had to give him a little shove when Dean felt all the eyes of Lawrence on him and the silence was deafening. His eyes quickly searched the crowd, finding Sam there, looking defiant. Dean's heart sunk. He had to do this.

He stepped past the rows of seating and into the square itself until he was face to face with the pack alpha. Dean had seen coming of age ceremonies before. Alphas were rare and coming of age ceremonies had mostly been for show. A symbolic deference to the pack alpha, no matter your status. This was different now. The war had made them all different.

"Dean." The word sounded like a gun-shot and Dean wasn't the only one who flinched at his father's voice. "You are of age now. The law of our pack dictates that a young alpha who comes of age is presented with two choices to preserve the balance of the pack." Dean wanted to stare at his own feet, but he couldn't give up just yet. He couldn't submit to John like that. So he stared at him. John's face was hard and Dean couldn't read any of his emotions. "For the protection of the pack you have the choice: exile or submission." The entire square was silent. It was Dean's turn now. Dean was shivering again and he had to ball his hands into fists to stop himself from shaking. He was an alpha, he was supposed to be strong, but faced with this impossible choice, he felt weak. His throat hurt and his nose was running. He wanted to scream. But instead he whispered desperately:

"Daddy, please."

"Make your choice. Exile or submission!" John repeated loudly and now some people were starting to mutter. This wasn't right. This wasn't how his father was supposed to treat him. Dean thought about running, he had been thinking of it for a long time. He could run as far as his legs carried him and be away from all of this; from his father who sought solace in his factories, from his mother who was wasting away in a hospital room, from the grey town, the smell of oil and gun powder, the high fences and men with weapons. Was a short freedom followed by death better than this humiliation? Everything inside of him screamed at the idea of having to submit like this. But if he did he would get to stay here, with his family, with his pack. And who would look after mom if he wasn't here? Who would look after Sam? Maybe this hesitation meant that he wasn't cut out to be an alpha anyway. He felt sick.

"For the balance of the pack, I choose submission," Dean said, his voice clear. The village square exploded into sound right away.

"No! Dean!" he heard Sam shout. "Why would you sell out like this!" Why are you a coward his brother seemed to ask, but his voice was drowned out. John didn't let on whether he was pleased or disappointed with Dean's choice.

"Take off your jacket," John ordered and Dean did. "Pull down the collar." The icy wind hit Dean's sweat soaked skin.

Dean knew what submission like this meant. He forfeited his alpha status – he won't have ruts, he won't be able to take a mate, he won't grow as tall or as strong as he should. He won't be his own person until John died or Dean left the pack and the scar has a chance to fade if Dean was away from his alpha. But he'd be alive. He'd be here.

"I'll be alive. I'll be here." He repeated the words in his head even as he felt the pain of the bite pierce through him and when the hot blood cooled on his exposed skin.

* * *

Lawrence, Winchester. '01

The sky arching above the town square was impossibly blue, but the next front of deep gray clouds was already rolling in from the south. Even though there was still daylight for a couple of hours the factories had stopped their seemingly endless rattling. Dean had woken on that day with an even worse dread in the pit of his stomach than when it had been his turn less than four years ago. He had carried this sickening fear through every task, every meeting and every inspection. His alpha had made sure that Dean had no second this day to let his thoughts stray and Dean had felt the urge to defy him and to find Sam the entire day.

Jo had come by during lunch before Bobby had pulled her out by the scruff of her neck. During their whispered conversation bent over Ellen's lunchboxes, while the pipes hissed next to them, Dean had heard that Sam had not looked one bit worried about his coming of age ceremony. Dean had a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach that Jo was right. Sam didn't worry because the young man had made up his mind long ago. Sam had not made any secret out his mounting distaste of John's fierce way of governing the pack.

Dean hurried through the masses of people, the wind from the coming storm making the flags on the lamp posts flatter, the loudest noise in the city now that the factories were empty. At least it was summer now, but it was a cold and wet one. Luck was never on the Winchester's side.

Mother had been unconscious for a while now, feverish and unresponsive. Would she even live to see this summer in full bloom?

Dean reached the square and pushed through the people already gathered there. And Dean knew at once that he had lost this battle years ago. Sam was standing proudly in the center of the square, his chin raised in a challenge and proud determination. Sam was 18 now, impossibly tall, taller than their father and taller than Dean who had mostly stopped growing when he had submitted. He was fierce and determined, idealistic and driven. He had all the qualities that an alpha needed and the older he got the worse the arguments with their pack alpha had become. John knew that Sam would continue to challenge him every step of the way, so he had called for the coming of age ceremony, despite protests from the council.

Sam had never presented. He wasn't alpha, he wasn’t omega. He simply was a young wolf with a heart burning for something else than the constrictions of their town.

"Sam!" John called and Dean balled his hands into fists, trying to force down the bile clawing up his throat. "You are of age now. The law of our pack dictates that-"

"I choose freedom," Sam cut into his father's words and the audience erupted in murmurs. John narrowed his eyes at his son.

"You would choose exile over your own family?" John challenged and Dean saw his brother square his shoulders.

"I choose _freedom_ ," Sam insisted. "I won't be able to stand being here one day longer! To be subjected to this humiliations." Dean heard some of the people standing around him gasp. " It is nonsense! It was when you forced Dean to do it and you haven't learnt anything of the consequences Dean had to suffer through." Dean felt shame flash through him.

"Sam," he heard John's warning growl, but Sam, the fool, didn't back down.

"It's the sign of a weak alpha to force his own children to be nothing but tools!" Sam shouted, then he turned away from his father to address the council and the pack at large. "It's cowardice of all of you! You are complicit in making this cold rule of submission or exile a reality again and again!" Dean watched the council and father take in Sam's rage with mixed expressions. Bobby dragged his cap further down into his face and Ellen was pale. The other council members looked on with grave faces.

John surprisingly kept his cool.

"If this is your opinion about the rules that keep this pack stable, then you shall leave this country and not return," he said and even though Dean saw his brother nod at once Dean shouted out in panic:

"No!!" John and Sam both looked towards him, Sam with a frown and John with a warning look. "You can't banish your own son!"

"This is Sam's choice," his father said calmly. "I can't nor will I accept disobedience," he said and Dean wasn't sure if he was referring to Sam or Dean's protest. In all the years since his submission bite Dean had never spoken out or disobeyed. But how could he keep his silence now?

"The world might be thrown into war again. The south is still unstable, there's still tension between the Kingdom-at-Sea and the Pasture. Nothing has changed. We need a strong, unified pack!" John continued. "You know the consequences of being too soft. You saw it! Day after day you visit your mother and she's considered one of the lucky ones!" John shook his head and looked towards Sam. "You have made your choice. You can leave." Dean was helpless to watch Sam turn on his heels and leave the square, head held high.

* * *

Dean found Sam with way too much baggage walking past the open fence that led out of their town.

"Sam!" Dean shouted, feeling the bag on his shoulder bounce with every hurried step he took. Sam turned around and eyed him suspiciously.

"I was going to say good-bye but you weren't around," Sam said and Dean glared at him.

"You were NOT going to say good-bye. Neither to me nor to Mom. You were just going to disappear!" Dean admonished. A flicker of shame crossed his younger brother's face. Anger pooled in Dean's stomach. And damn, somehow it felt good to feel it again and for it to wash out the constant fear. "You won't survive out there. Not like this! You have no idea about what life is like! You've never had to work one day in your life!" Sam opened his mouth to protest, but Dean didn't want to hear it. "You don't know how to hunt! You don't know how to build shelter!"

"You don't know either, so why are you preaching? Why do you even care?" Sam challenged crossly and Dean saw red. Sam seemed to realize his blunder right away, but Dean didn't let him mutter out an apology.

"How could you possibly think that I don't care?!" Dean roared, startling the guards at the gate. Dean shook all over, feeling his teeth itch, the submission bite burn in protest. Dean was livid and he was disappointed. His hand shot out and he grabbed his large, gangly brother by the scruff of his neck.

"Dean, wha-," his brother wanted to protest but Dean dragged him to the gate and put him next to a guard.

"Watch him until I'm back," Dean told the guard and got a hesitating nod in return. Dean dropped his small bag and then he turned around back into town. He didn't have to go far before he ran into Bobby. Before the man could say anything Dean pulled a letter out of his jacket and held it out to him until Bobby took it.

"What's happening?" Bobby asked slowly as if he knew exactly what Dean's answer would be.

"Give this letter to mom if she wakes up. We're leaving."

"We?" Bobby asked.

"Dean!" Dean tensed and looked past Bobby, where John was hurrying towards them, reminding Dean again of dark smoke that streamed out of the chimneys. "What's the meaning of this?" Dean felt the urge to lower his head, but he fought it, facing his father head on.

"If Sam's going, I'm going," he said, proud of himself for how clear his voice came out. John looked surprised for just a moment, then anger took over.

"That's nonsense! You have to go back to work!"

"No," Dean said, the word rolling of his tongue with an ease he would have never suspected. Apparently neither did John because again he faltered. But then he reached out and grabbed Dean by the shoulder.

"You can't! If you leave you'll be exiled like him! And I need you here in this pack!" Dean shook his head. "Don't be a fool! You're not an alpha anymore!"

"And Sam's unpresented, still you send him out there to die," Dean shot back then he took John's arm off his shoulder.

"Dean, I'm warning you! I'm not joking about the exile. You step out through that gate and you won't be coming back here," John said sharply.

"Fine," Dean snapped and then he turned around. Sam was standing by the gate, his eyes wide open in shock.

"Come," Dean ordered, shouldering his bag and a number of Sam's unnecessary items. Sam scrambled to get the other things on his back and then he followed Dean through the gate.

Dean stared on ahead, down the path that led out of Winchester and, of that he was sure, towards their death. Two exiled wolves in a world that had no need for more destabilizing forces. But Sam's face split into a bright smile, trusting that freedom awaited them.


	2. In your blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back!
> 
> Some warning notes for this chapter: Dean starts to work for Alastair and that's never going to be nice for him. There's non-graphic violence in this chapter, Dean gets mistaken for an omega and threatened by a group of drunks and some random unnamed villain characters meet a bloody end.

Outer Edge of Winchester. '01

Summer dragged on in long rainy days and the Winchester's relatively easy travels came to an end. Winchester Land was behind them now but they hadn't dared to scale the mountains that would lead into the war-torn lands beyond. So they had taken old trading routes along the mountain range's foot. Many towns here had been rich once, steadfast memorials of prosperity in the shadow of the mountains, but the long war had stripped them of their wealth and independence. The brothers had followed the route north and here the down-trodden towns littered the outskirts of John Winchester's vast territories like ugly scars on the war-ravaged lands.

The weather had turned and  the cough Sam had picked up two weeks into exile had gotten bad enough that Dean had to put his foot down on further travelling. The submission bite on Dean's neck was a small mercy because almost no one would be willing to shelter an alpha, two packless wolves, one of them mistaken as an omega had better chances. The scar was tender now, rubbed raw by Dean's constant touching and the collar of his leather coat. But Dean didn't want to waste any worry on the claiming bite, so he didn't. He found them a little run-down lodging, just one room but the landlady took what little money Dean could give her and promised to share some of her dinner soups with Sam in return for Dean fixing things around the building. It was a small kindness that Dean valued tremendously. But kindness alone wouldn't secure their survival.

"I need to find proper work," Dean whispered a week after he had fruitlessly searched for employment around town. She looked at him with a frown. " _Please_. I'm sure Sam needs medicine and we might have to stay here for months."

"Go to the bar," the landlady's husband called from behind his ratty newspaper. "There are always people willing to waste some bucks on a pretty face like yours if you're willing to spread your legs." Dean felt his face heat up in disgust at the idea. The landlady shot Dean an embarrassed look, mutely apologizing for her husband's crude words.

"I'm unwilling," Dean said shortly, "but thank you for the advice." His search for work around the factories or in administration had been fruitless, so he might as well give the bars a shot. He made sure that Sam was sleeping, then he slipped out into the rainy night, letting his ears and nose guide him to the next bar.

Dean had done this before, this disgraceful begging for work. He knew how to be submissive but he liked it less and less, the further away he got from Lawrence. This faded, wet town was just the latest disgrace he had to bear. He had dealt with it in Lawrence, he had dealt with the snide comments and the disrespect of other pack members. On more than one occasion he had met them with fists and claws until his knuckles spit. John had been surprised, but somehow he had also been proud.

"You're still a Winchester. You have teeth, be sure to keep them," he had said appreciatively and sent him to Nurse Kate. Dean had wondered about the contradiction of being an alpha who had to submit to another alpha and John's insistence that submission wasn't all that he expected of him. But Dean had taken it to heart, couldn't do anything else than obey anyway.

Dean didn't know if his teeth would help him now, but he could at least try. The first three bars let Dean know that they had no work for him and the fourth didn't look any better. It was the worst of dive of the lot, tucked away in a low building between two rows of houses with smashed windows. He had seen people walking around in the shadows, smelling of alcohol, lust and violence. Dean had to pinch his nose but then he went into the smoke filled bar. He made his way through the throng of people, trying to put as much confidence on his face as he could. The bartender eyed him critically. He was a bullish looking man, with short cropped hair and a massive moustache. It was hard to figure out more in this darkness.

"Do you want something or are you here to stare?" the bartender challenged.

"Beer and work if you have it," Dean said, tossing one of his few coins on the table. The bartender took it.

"Not sure if you attract the right kind of attention," he said and Dean lifted an eyebrow. He looked over his shoulder to scan the people in the bar. He knew that eyes were trailed on him. There was a group of drunk men who glared at him but didn't dare approach yet, there was a man with curved horns who blended into the background but was clearly staring and there were some women who wore too little for the current weather so Dean assumed they were here for the same reason he was; work. He was used to some attention from women now that he had left Lawrence. For the first time since the submission he had felt some stirring of lust, but he hadn't acted on it and he certainly wasn't going to pay for something he didn't need. "Wolves aren't good for business," the bartender continued, putting the beer in front of Dean, then he turned away to serve another customer. Dean didn't give up yet, he'd pester him until he was thrown out. He took a sip of his beer and then he slammed it down on the counter when he felt the tell-tale prickle in the back of his neck.

"Don't start anything you'll regret," he warned and then he turned around in his chair to see the drunk men approach. From the smell of them Dean guessed they were dogs, though it was hard to say with the variety of ear shapes he encountered outside of his former pack lands. Everything had been more clear cut in the Winchester pack.

"Don't be like that, pretty face," the one in the front leered. Dean narrowed his eyes in warning. "Surely you don't want to drink all on your own?" He reached out and pulled down Dean's collar. Dean slapped his hand away, but the damage was already done and a big grin split the guy's face. "Knew you didn't smell like alpha. Look at that guys. A bite. Ran away from your alpha, didn't you? Wasn't he big enough for you?" The men laughed and Dean thought about punching them. Three on one, he could do that.

"Don't you know? Wolf omegas are needier than any other kind! Even outside heats!" Another man said. "But bitches need a bit of convincing." The leader grabbed Dean's arm and tried to pull him out of his seat, but Dean remained sitting.

"Let go of me or you'll regret it," Dean warned and he was released with mocking whistles and raised hands.

"It's the most fun if you're being a bit feisty," he was told and Dean's patience snapped. He huffed a laugh and then he finished his beer calmly. The next time the hands were put on him he lashed out. His punch landed right in the dick's face. There was a shout of disbelieving protest as the leader of the group went down with a groan. It didn't last long before the other two turned on Dean, trying to punch and kick. But Dean knocked them all out in a matter of moments. He glared at anyone who looked like they were out for a bit of blood, but nobody else dared to make a move. Until Dean heard the thundering sounds of the bartender's steps on the creaky floor. He advanced on him and grabbed him by the back of his jacket. Dean still had plenty of fight left in him, but there was no point in risking a black eye. The moustache quivered as the bartender spoke:

"Wolves always disturb business!" he spat and then he tossed Dean into the alley. He stumbled a bit but managed to gain his footing.

"As if anyone cared about your business," Dean muttered, righting his jacket. Well, Dean thought to himself, he could survive another day going hungry. There was still enough for Sam.

"That was quite entertaining," a low voice interrupted Dean's thoughts and he turned around to see the guy with the horns leaning against the wall, his cold blue eyes gleaming in the light.

"Yeah? Next time it'll cost you to watch," Dean said with a dismissive snort. The guy didn't look very menacing, but there was something about him that made Dean's hackles rise.

"My name is Alastair," the man said and Dean glared at him. He wasn't interested, so he started walking away. He had tried enough bars and wasted enough coins to get people's attention. Time to call it a night. "I heard you want work?" Dean stopped at once and turned to look at the man. He was skeevy and didn't look like any kind of work he'd offer be anything else than shady. "I really liked the show."

"Thanks, but I've not yet reached the point where I'll bend over for you," Dean said. But he was hungry and he didn't know how much longer he could go beg for work without success. "Not unless you're willing to pay good money." He was sure this Alastair guy wasn't able to pay up if he exaggerated a price. But Alastair laughed.

"Oh, I do pay good money. And I do want to buy your body." Dean shuddered at the idea. Alastair's smirk seemed to be too wide to be natural. "But not in the way you're thinking, little wolf."

"Then what are you on about?" Dean challenged and Alastair continued to smile at Dean eerily.

"I have a business and I always need people to clean up, pay attention. People who won't mind getting a bit of dirt on their hands." He pointedly looked down at Dean's fists, which were stained with blood. Alastair pulled something out of his jacket's pocket and tossed it at Dean, who easily caught the metal. Dean opened his hand and found it to be a silver coin of a foreign currency. Dean knew that if he brought it to the exchange bureau he'd have enough to pay the rent for the entire month. He stared at Alastair in disbelief.

"Consider it payment for the nice bar fight I got to witness," he said, "and be sure to think about-"

"I'll do it." Alastair seemed pleasantly surprised, but nodded.

"Very well. Meet me at the western gate tomorrow at day break," Alastair said, then he turned around and got back into the bar. Dean didn't think that it was a good idea to work for this guy but what other choice did he have?

* * *

Sam was delighted to hear that Dean found work and Dean tried to not meet his landlord's knowing expression. He was wrong, but what did it matter? His landlord had already made it clear that as long as they paid their weekly rent he didn't care what they did and he had been especially generous with his nods of approval when Dean had paid rent for a full month. In Lawrence his wages had never mattered and for all of John's faults he had paid everyone fairly and took care of his packs' needs. Even those who couldn't work didn't have to starve or be homeless. It was different here where packs didn't exist. Here money couldn't only secure your survival, but also buy you benevolence and kindness.

Working for Alastair wasn't as dreadful as he had first suspected. Just as Alastair had promised, he paid Dean to guard. He was a glorified watch dog and he was more than happy to try to prove that Alastair taking him in would be rewarded. Dean had been doing this kind of work for John before and his senses as a wolf were much better than of anyone else in Alastair's gang. Alastair was pleased both by Dean's work but also by him not asking any questions. Dean didn't have to know who or what he guarded.

So the jobs and the wages kept coming and with it soon a promotion. Dean was tasked with doing deliveries from Alastair. Carrying small bundles that smelled familiar enough for him to know that they contained weapons and ammunition. He carried them from one of Alastair's warehouses to another one or five towns over. Deas was pretty sure that Alastair was a smuggler, exactly the kind of person that John had always warned Dean against. As the son of the biggest weapon manufacturer, Dean knew quite a bit of what the consequences of Dean's contribution to smuggling were. But he had to make sure that Sam had a roof over his head and food on his table. So he continued and didn't worry about the hands the weapons would end up in. Just like he hadn't asked where his father's weapons went during the long war years.

He came back into the town just shortly before sunrise, pockets heavy with the money the weapon dealer had given him for his delivery. The last drunk straggles where leaving the pubs and one of the prostitutes was sitting on the stairs of a house, looking up at the sky in silence. He too lifted his head. The mountain range rose like a giant gray prison wall behind them, the sky dark and cloudy above them.

"You'll get used to it," he heard the woman on the stairs say. Dean darted a look towards her and saw her put her hair up, covering her feline ears. "We all get numb with time," she said and then she went back inside the house. Dean looked at the empty doorway, feeling nothing at all but resignation. Nothing really held Dean here in this town, so maybe the numbness wouldn't be able to sink too deeply into his bones. They'd have to move eventually, but Sam wasn't better yet, frequent fevers keeping him weak. He continued walking and finally reached Alastair's warehouse. He knocked and was let in.

"You're back early," Alastair commented when Dean dropped the bundles of money on the table. "Any issues?"

"No, just efficiency," Dean told him and Alastair went to count the money. Dean had had the misfortune of having witnessed someone try to cheat Alastair out of his money. He had never seen that man again. When Alastair was pleased he leant back in his chair and looked up at Dean.

"It's so lovely to work with you, Dean," he said and Dean felt a shiver of disgust go through him. "You are strong in many ways. But you're not an alpha, not a real one at least." Dean shrugged. He didn't care what Alastair thought. "With that mark on your neck you do know how to follow orders, don't you?"

"Yes, sir," Dean answered. Alastair chuckled and opened a drawer of his desk. He took out a gun and Dean's eyes widened instinctually at the threat, but he kept his cool. He could see that the gun wasn’t loaded. Alastair observed Dean with a smile, then he put the gun on the table and also produced some bullets. "Here's your promotion." He also handed Dean a couple of bills from the stack of money. "Get something to drink, on me." Dean took the gun and the money wordlessly. "Don't disappoint me," Alastair called after him in an easy voice.

"I never do," Dean promised darkly.

* * *

Alastair continued to be pleased with Dean's work and he rewarded him graciously. Dean could afford lodgings which would be good enough to comfortably get them through winter, he finally had enough healthy food for Sam and could even get a doctor to come. The doctor didn't know exactly what ailed Sam because he didn't know wolf biology very well, but promised that keeping him in bed and well-fed would show improvements with time. Dean hoped that if he saved enough money he could afford something better for Sam. At least Sam was awake and alert most days, complaining about being bored. So before Dean went on his next job, he got his brother a lot of books to keep him entertained. It put a dent into Dean's savings but at least his brother would be alright.

The job Alastair had lined up for him was simple even though it seemed to require a bit more effort to remain undetected. Alastair accompanied them as they crept into an abandoned seeming factory that lay outside of what Dean came to know as Alastair's turf. Alastair didn't feel it necessary to tell Dean whose territory they were invading so Dean didn't ask. He kept his gun close to himself and looked around. In the not too far distance he could see the faint lights of a populated area and even though the factory lay in complete silence before them, Dean could smell something on the air. He frowned, trying to determine if the scent was fresh or stale.

"Alastair," Dean warned and his boss, who kept to the shadows of the building, out of sight and out of the line of fire, looked towards him. "There's a scent here. Three different people, one of them is fresh. Someone's here." Alastair took in that information with a silent nod. He let his team advance carefully, but not all of them were as silent as Dean was. Suddenly there was a noise and then he heard the sound of gunfire, of bursting glass and screams. The scent of fear and anger and blood assaulted Dean's nose as he tried to figure out what exactly was happening in the following commotion. Alastair's men seemed to be alright but when Dean came into the warehouse he saw a man lying on the floor, eyes wide open and blood pooling underneath him. Dean stumbled back into the wall, gun pointed at the floor before him.

"Tse. How careless." Suddenly Alastair was beside him and Dean gave a start. "Getting cold feet, Dean?" Dean swallowed a couple of times.

"First corpse I've seen," Dean said and Alastair laughed as if it was something normal. Nothing was normal about this.

"It's unfortunate if people leave a mess. We can't leave a trace," Alastair told him, "so I'm going to teach you how to… clean." Dean stared at his boss, finding him smiling.

"You mean dispose of his body?"

"It's like tracking in reverse. Should be easy for you, wolf-boy," Alastair commented and then he clapped Dean on the shoulder. "Come! It's easy! Don't ask questions, just do it!" So Dean did.

* * *

Dean felt like the numbness of living in the shadow of the great mountains and the taint of doing Alastair's dirty work quickly seemed to make a home inside Dean's breast. He felt heavy and tired all the time, like a dense darkness pushed on Dean until his legs shook and his vision swam.

Alastair told him where to go, he told him who to dispose of. He tracked backwards, covering his every step. He felt like he was unravelling, like Alastair was stripping away more parts of him the higher up the hierarchy he let Dean climb.

There was no option of saying no; Sam wasn't doing well in this wet. When he sat by Sam's bedside, seeing his face creased up in a new bout of fever, Dean worried if maybe the Sulphur sickness got him too and that he'd slowly waste away like their mother. But the only thing he could do right now was to make sure that Sam lacked nothing; not when he was unconscious and not when he was awake. That meant more work, dirtier work.

And eventually Sam seemed to be doing better. But there was no break for Dean, because summer had slipped into autumn and around here winter followed shortly, without respite, without mercy. They had enough now to keep their house warm. To have food on the table. Maybe it was still not enough for a growing wolf like Sam and a damaged alpha like Dean. But Dean could always eat later, when Alastair rewarded an especially nasty job with some extra coins.

The bite on Dean's neck itched and he scratched at it with bloody fingers, mud stuck under his nails.

* * *

August tipped over into September when Dean woke up to a morning of blurred shapes and faded colors. Other than the mornings before it didn't seem to get any better during the day. He bumped into things all morning and on his way to work. Usually frantic rubbing at his eyes got him to focus for a couple of hours, but once night fell Dean had to squint at the blurry shapes again.

"You don't seem to be at your best, Dean," Alastair said, his voice friendly but Dean could hear the warning in it. "Is your head in it?"

"Yeah… I was up too long I think, taking care of Sam. It won't happen again," Dean said and Alastair huffed.

"I fear you're letting your brother be a distraction," he said and Dean's ears perked up before they flattened down on his head in a silent warning.

"He's not a distraction," he said and Alastair shrugged, dismissing Dean. Dean vowed to work harder. But soon the letters of Alastair's instructions and Sam's book blurred into smudges. He could have dealt with that, but it got bad enough that he had no more chance to see any targets, so the gun in his hand became useless, even as defense.

When Dean came back in the morning, Alastair said he had no work for a man who couldn't tell apart friend and foe. He closed the door in Dean's face and Dean had to go back home and hope that a day of forced rest would make his sight improve.

"Maybe you just need glasses. Or maybe it's malnutrition? Are you eating enough vegetables?" Sam asked cheekily when he prepared a cup of tea for Dean, not understanding how dire the situation was.

"All that crap goes on your plate," he shot back and Sam made a huffing noise.

The next day Dean's eyes weren't doing any better, but he still stumbled towards the warehouse, just to have Alastair send him back yet again. Dean debated just waiting for his eyes to get better, but each day he didn't work, they used up money that Dean couldn't replenish. Dean knew how much they had and how quickly his savings would be used up. So he decided to go back again and again. He bumped into everything at first and Alastair laughed at him when he finally reached his door. The situation made Dean's frustration rise until it became unbearable. He had to do something. His eyes might be a lost cause but they weren’t all he had. So he kept going back and every day he got better at using his nose and his eyes to find his way.

After two weeks Alastair actually opened his door for him and Dean could smell how amused he was by Dean's probably pathetic display.

"Give me work," he demanded. "Even half-blind I'm the best man you've got. I've got a good nose. I can track and I'm silent. Nobody ever hears me coming. I will not miss a target or lose you any money."

"You sure about that, princess?" Alastair teased, putting his cold fingers on Dean's cheek. Dean didn't react.

"I am the best man you have, you need me," he insisted. He didn't have to see Alastair's face to know that he was pleased. He let go of him and stepped into the warehouse. Dean followed, not stumbling at all.

"You were a needy submissive bitch the last days, but I knew that somewhere under this protective big bro attitude you had bloodlust. An alpha edge." Alastair seemed to taste the words on his tongue, delighted with everything he said. "And as long as you do, you're useful. Remember that, Dean. Be useful. The key to success is to make yourself indispensable."

"You know I am," Dean assured him and didn't show how glad he was that Alastair relented and gave him a new mission.

* * *

Alastair didn't believe in giving Dean time to adjust. So his next mission was a bad one. A raid. Dean had to stake out a place and follow Alastair's designated target. Alastair had called the mission "information gathering" but Dean knew that it meant abduction. He overwhelmed the person, by the stink of the man he was a hyena, like most of the people he had to deal with recently. Whoever Alastair had territory wars with, they must be newcomers from the South that tried to use the power vacuum after the war to their benefit.

Dean didn't ask questions, but he could hear the screams of the poor bastard, while Alastair tortured the information out of him. Once Dean was back home he went straight to the closest bar and wasted one of his hard-earned coins on a drink to drown out the memory of his target's screams.

When he got up in the cold mornings he thought about getting out, but it was as if Alastair could scent Dean's worries because he continued to send him on more and more missions, maybe with the aim of making him numb to the horrors of Alastair's business.

He wanted out, he just wanted out, but if he did then Sam would surely die.

"I feel like you could use a change of scenery," Alastair said, startling Dean out of his day-dreams of just taking everything he had and running away. "You have too many… hang ups. Things that hold you back from reaching your full potential."

"How would you know what my full potential is," Dean hissed and Alastair laughed.

"You're an alpha wolf. I know what your full potential is. You're a wild creature, being a killer is in your nature," he said and Dean kept silent. "I have a mission for you, but it'll take you out into another territory. It might take you a week but I will pay you a lot if you don't mess it up."

"I'm listening," Dean said, turning towards Alastair's blurry shape.

* * *

Dean couldn't quite shake the feeling that Alastair was up to something. A dangerous mission that took him away from Sam for a week after Alastair had made comments about Sam distracting him? Maybe Dean was worrying over nothing, but he still didn't feel like they were safe.

"Why do we have to move?" Sam asked, wisely keeping from whining and helping Dean to pack essentials instead. "You're only gone for a week. I'm doing fine and I'm not a child." Dean couldn't possibly tell Sam that Alastair considered him his weak spot.

"Maybe not, but I want you to be safe," Dean insisted. The thought of Alastair doing anything to harm Sam sent Dean's mind spinning.

"Dean! Watch out for the table," Sam warned, but Dean stumbled into it before he managed to sit down in a chair. "What's wrong with you…?" Sam came closer and then his cool palm was on Dean's forehead. "You're feverish… And what's with your eyes? Still not better?"

"It doesn't matter."

"It _does_ matter!! What kind of work do you do that you have to move me to a new location while you're gone?" Sam pressed and Dean whined, bending over and covering his face with his palms. "Dean, if you're doing something dangerous, you should just quit! Dean."

"Please, Sam. Don't ask questions, not now," he begged. "We need to go away." Sam was silent for a while, his protests dying down and in the silence that followed Dean suddenly heard the steps approaching their door, combined with a scent that set Dean on edge. Dean opened the door and one of Alastair's henchmen was there, his scent carrying with it the fragrance of various concealed weapons.

"Dean, Dean, Dean. Where are you off to?" he asked. Dean didn't know the name of the guy, but he knew that he was dangerous.

"What's it to you?" Dean challenged.

"Alastair wants to know if you're serious about doing the job in Crowley's territory," he guy replied and stepped over the threshold of their home, hand on the hilt of a gun and the way his voice had reached Dean's ears his face had been turned towards Sam. Dean didn't falter long, pulled out his knife and tackled the intruder. It was easy taking him out. Sam yelled in surprise, barely avoiding being hit by the henchman's falling body.

"Go, go!" Dean urged, grabbing Sam by his arm. "We have to leave!"

"But… But that guy…? He had a gun. And he… Is he dead?"

"Sam, hurry up!" Dean said instead of answering, rushing them through back alleys and partially crumbled ruins, to a hidden house on the outskirts of town that one of the women had pointed Dean towards. Neither Alastair nor any of his guys has noses good enough to sniff Sam out if he was well-hidden.

"I'll explain once I'm back. But I have to trust that you can fend for yourself for a couple of days. There's enough food and water to last you. And you shouldn't be cold."

"O… okay," Sam muttered and Dean gave him a strong hug. He went back to the house to dispose of the assassin or whatever he was that Alastair had sent. It was certainly meant as a warning and Dean had got the message. Still, he reported to Alastair.

"Hm, isn't it weird that one of my men didn't show up today?" he mused and Dean glared in his direction, but then he snorted.

"If you mean that dick you sent to check on me? He invaded my territory, with weapons. I tolerate all kinds of shit from you, but I have no mercy when random people challenge me," Dean answered coldly. True to his nature, Alastair was pleased with what he heard. He didn't care at all that Dean had disposed of one of his men or showed signs of insubordination. Sometimes Dean wondered if Alastair was just in this business for the perverse entertainment he got out of it.

"You do make this work interesting," Alastair complimented and clapped Dean on the shoulder. "Now get ready. This is going to be one hell of a mission."

* * *

Crowley's territory, southern border. '01

Alastair never gave him a lot of intel to go on, so all Dean knew was that Alastair had sent him and another guy that hadn't even bothered to growl out a name to take out some of Crowley's men. Alastair didn’t care much about territorial struggles, but Crowley was quickly on the rise and he messed up Alastair's plans quite frequently by spreading out. According to Alastair, Crowley was power hungry and opportunistic and he also was careless. The last part Dean could at least confirm. His men were not well trained so reducing Crowley's group and grabbing another hostage if possible was easy.

Dean tracked them through villages and empty fields and forests as they made their slow way from one of Crowley's check points to another. Dean didn't know what they carried with them that needed a group as conspicuous as six men. But Dean didn’t complain, tracking the noisy, careless bunch was easy enough.

Completing their mission should have also been uncomplicated, but Dean's silent companion was apparently either terribly impatient or had ambitions to take all the credit for the task. The moment they actually had the group within view, the asshole started shooting. Dean cursed and was not surprised at all when the idiot was shot down after he had killed four people. They didn't yet know that Dean was around and he wanted to avoid shooting anyone if he could. He tried to get closer to knock out the other two, but the scent of blood was far too heavy and he had trouble navigating the forest without making more noise than necessary. He knew that he was spotted a moment before pain tore through his shoulder. He didn't have time to assess the damage. He was alive and he could still lift his gun so he did and he knew that he hit his target when the blurry shape went down. That meant one person left. He heard the fluttering of wings too loud to be a normal bird so he aimed.

"No! Please!!" It was the voice of a woman and while Dean didn't pull the trigger he still kept the gun trailed on her. "Please don't kill me." Dean didn't know who she was, but he could scent her sharp fear and blood. She was hurt and even if Dean let her live, Alastair would probably do terrible things to her.

"What's your name?" Dean called.

"Bela. I work for Crowley," she said, "please. He will reward you if you-"

"It's alright," Dean said and put away his gun. "Can you walk or… fly?"

"I… I think so," she answered, clearly unsure what Dean's intention was. "You're not going to kill me…? Aren't you one of Alastair's men?"

"No longer. I quit," Dean said and followed the scent to what seemed to be money. He rummaged around a bag and found something that had the right blurry color, shape and weight. He got back up on his feet. "That dumbass there and me were the only people Alastair sent and that I scented around here. You should be free to go. But next time you go on a dangerous mission think about taking someone who could at least sniff out enemies." Bela laughed uneasily. "Oh, one more thing."

"Yes…?" Dean looked towards her, seeing the shape of dark wings raise behind her figure, making her shape weird for Dean to grasp.

"It would really help me if Alastair thought I was dead…" Bela snorted at that. "Can you get the rumour going if you're back at Crowley's place."

"I can do that. But who are you?"

"Dean Winchester," he answered. Bela was silent, but her surprise was obvious despite the stench around them. But she didn't say anything and Dean heard the sound of wings. The scent of Bela was gone, leaving Dean with nothing but the carnage, the silent forest and the throbbing wound. He relaxed and then he hissed when the movement pulled at his shoulder. He touched the wound. It wasn't dangerous, the guy's aim had been way off. It still bled so Dean bound his shoulder, then he turned around and tried to find his way to where Sam was. If he really went through with escaping Alastair's clutches then they had to run as far away as possible.

* * *

Outer Edge of Winchester. '01

Dean made it back to Sam, falling through the door with a groan.

"Dean!" Sam was here, he was alright. But Dean didn't have time to rest now. "What the hell happened to you? Are you bleeding?!"

"A bit," Dean said with a hollow laugh, then he hissed when Sam was there to prod his wound with his cold fingers. "Sam… Sam, you can try to fix me later, but now-"

"NO!" Sam shouted even though Dean tried to shush him. They were in hiding after all. "No. You need medical attention now. At least let me clean your wound. Maybe I can even sew it up. I read books about it, but a doctor would be best."

"No time for a doctor," Dean said and then he shook his head. "Sam, I quit. I'm done." When Sam didn't answer Dean sighed deeply. "That means no more money for books, sorry, Sammy."

"To hell with books," Sam said, his voice shaking with distress. Dean hissed when Sam cleaned his wound but he almost didn't feel it when Sam took out the first aid kit and started sewing the wound where the bullet had brushed him. "You really need help, Dean."

"We have to travel on," Dean muttered, "if we stay here Alastair will eventually find us." He sighed deeply. "It's not going to be easy. But maybe someone will be kind."

"This Alastair dude apparently was anything but kind," Sam hissed. Alastair hadn't been unkind, not obviously, but he clearly was a messed up, manipulative son of a bitch. But Dean wasn't much better. The things he had done on Alastair's orders were… dreadful. Dean couldn't think about it now because they had to get moving as soon as possible. He urged Sam to pack the essentials and then they were on their way.

"It's mid-September. There are places where it's still warm. Maybe we could go there. Follow the mountain further until we reach the great lake to get past the other side," Sam said as they left the dark town behind them.

"I wouldn't mind getting out of the shadow of this stinking mountain range," Dean grumbled and glared towards the blurry shape, just a tad darker than the sky above it.

"But what if no one will give us work?" Sam asked.

"I've still got my good looks," Dean teased and ruffled Sam's hair. "And now I wouldn't even have to look into anyone's ugly face."

"What do you mean you won't have to look…?" Dean rolled his eyes.

"For a wolf your perception is rather dull," Dean said, "I'm mostly blind, Sam."

"Is it that bad…?" Sam asked, "you were moving around so well." Dean heard his little brother sniff.

"I am a wolf. I have ears and a nose I can trust. I'll manage, even if my eyes will never get better anymore," Dean assured him. Partially Dean was glad that he had been unable to see some of the horrors he had lived through while working for Alastair.

"Things will get better now," Sam promised and Dean didn't know what to believe, but he felt at least a bit lighter, almost as if some of the numbness and taint had been left behind.


	3. The inner workings of an alpha

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! Here's the last chapter :D

The Great Lake. '01

Despite having to live on very little and more often than not sleeping in a barn, Sam was doing well. Now that Dean's vision was so bad, Sam took it upon himself to keep stock of their possessions and the money. It would take a while before they completely ran out with the amount Dean had stolen on the last mission. They hadn't had to dig into it yet but soon they would have no choice.

So the brothers went from village to village, leaving behind Alastair's territory and the shadow of the mountain range. Sam carried his weight now, often leaving Dean in order to sell their possessions, claiming that it was best to travel light. Dean knew that Sam wasn't happy about parting with all their books and extra clothing that they had brought from Lawrence. But they parted with whatever they could part with.

"Ew, Dean what the hell!" Dean turned his head towards where his brother was. The smell of hay was strong around them and the rain fell heavily outside the barn, making it difficult for Dean to scent anything. But at least they were dry and warm in here. "The money in the bag is full of blood!" Dean laughed. "Your laugh is just downright creepy," Sam complained and Dean heard how Sam closed the bag again, clearly not interested in interacting with the money any further today.

"What did you expect?" Dean asked and Sam remained silent for a long time. The rain continued on. Dean felt nervous when there were strong scents and noises to cover the tracks of people who might want to ambush them. But he forced himself to relax. They were fine. Sam still had eyes after all.

"I thought you were working in the factories, or the docks. Maybe even in a bar," Sam finally answered. Dean hummed at that. "I… once overheard some guys and… I don't know…"

"Spit it out, Sammy," Dean challenged, not very patient today.

"I thought that you worked in one of the warehouses as a pimp or something," Sam said in a rushed mumble. When Dean remained silent his brother apologized for the assumption.

"No. Though I had offers of people paying me for sex," Dean said and he heard Sam make a cut off noise at that.

"But you can't… I mean… You don't have a mating drive anymore, right…?"

"Sam, don't be stupid," he said and Sam grunted at him in displeasure. "It wasn't my fantastic dick people were interested in, if you catch my drift."

"I don't- Oh." He could scent Sam's shock and embarrassment at that.

"Hm," Dean commented and leant back into the blanket put over the scratchy hay.

"Did they think you were an omega…?" Sam dared to ask even though Dean could tell he was uncomfortable with the topic.

"Usually. They saw the bite and assumed," Dean said and touched the back of his neck. The bite still itched uncomfortably.

"But that's not how you got money with blood all over it, right? Alastair wasn't a pimp?" he asked and Dean shook his head.

"No. I'm not sure what he was. Whatever seemed to amuse him, he'd do. He wasn't very picky about his criminal activities, though usually I had to smuggle stuff for him," Dean confessed, not sure how Sam would react to it. He had no interest in burdening Sam with the whole truth of all the shit Dean had seen and his brother seemed to accept that.

"I'm glad that you escaped," Sam said after a while when Dean was already close to dozing off.

"Hmm, I'm too," he said and rubbed his neck.

* * *

Ruthporth, The Great Lake. '01

They move on and on until the air changed. They had reached the Great Lake and if they were lucky they would spend the autumn on its shore. The town Sam had chosen seemed to be silent and relatively unaffected by the war. They rented a room in a small bed and breakfast. Through the windows Dean could see the blurry shape of the harbor and the ship masts. The long winding arm of the Nenz was leading into far away lands, to eventually meet the waters that rushed down from Schildberg all the way to the ocean. Those lands, even though Dean had seen Kingdom-at-Sea once before, had now moved far beyond Dean's hopes and aspirations. No. Ruthporth would have to do for now. There were a lot of seagulls, screaming him out of his sleep seemingly at all hours. The smells were foreign, making Dean have a hard time leaving the house without running into the danger of stumbling into the sea.

"Stay home, Dean!" Sam ordered when he had found him wandering in the opposite direction of where all the seagull noise came from. "There's a shopkeeper who gave me a job taking care of the numbers for him. We'll be fine for a while. Just relax!"

Sam apparently put his clever brain to good use. Dean wished that he too possessed this kind of useful intelligence, but he didn't. He wasn't good for any kind of work but the one that required force. And this town was too removed from war to need people like Dean. Dean knew that he'd only make a fool of himself if he asked for work in the harbor. Dean couldn't do clean and proper work, not anymore. He had tainted himself and having to sit in their rented room, sightlessly staring out of the window as the hours ticked by seemed to be his lot in life now. It was just punishment, Dean decided.

"Stop being melodramatic," Sam said with a snort and pulled Dean towards a house Dean's nose and ears told him he didn't want to be in. It stank of frustration and despair. "I asked around and they have work for you here."

"Oh really, as what? Putting people out of their misery?" he spat. His brother was taken aback by Dean's answer, letting go of his arm.

"What…? No Dean… This is a charity house… They employ people with… problems."

"Problems," Dean echoed and Sam fidgeted.

"It's proper work, Dean. Clean work. That's what you wanted, right?" Dean didn't know if this was what he wanted, but he was too tired to fight it, so he gave in. It turned out that he got to fold clothes, mend stuff and weave baskets with the other people the staff called "deficient" with cheerful voices. Deficient. Dean didn't care what people called him. He didn't ask questions and did what he was told and at the end of the day he got a coin and a small bundle of food to take home.

"Free food. That's the life, right Sammy?" he asked and put the small loaf of bread on the counter together with a sachet of powder. Maybe tea, maybe milk powder. "It's not bad for our finances that I'm a cripple now."

He felt bad when Sam had to bite back a sob at his words. Maybe he should just keep his big mouth shut, he thought bitterly.

* * *

They lived modestly. Winter had blown into the town from the Great Lake but Dean's night terrors about his brother falling ill once the snow set in didn't come true. Sam was doing well enough, finally over whatever had ailed him. But it was winter and while they had found a temporary home that would keep them from freezing Dean knew that the time had come for them to move. He felt it in the scents that hung around the people like flimsy clouds. Sam came home frustrated when his boss had thanked him for his work and told him not to come back.

"I don't understand," Sam said.

"Most villages don't want to support two wolves, Sam. Not when things are going to get tight for all of them," Dean explained, already prepared. Sam slowly started helping him pack.

"But why? We don't take up more space, we don't eat more. We're just normal people."

"Sam," Dean said with a sigh, rubbing his forehead. "Wolves are destabilizers."

"We're not!" Sam argued fiercely.

"It doesn't matter what we really are, Sam. What people think we are matters. We are the ones you call if you want to force something through. We are the ones you call if you want an enemy gone. If you want a territory taken over. When you want to win a war. We are Winchester wolves, Sam. Exiled Winchester wolves." Sam remained silent, his frustration a bitter scent that permeated the air.

"Dad built up his pack, a stable one."

"It's rich that you'd bring up dad's way of governing a pack as an argument," Dean said humorlessly. Sam fell silent after that and they left. There were other towns, one of them would shelter them.

* * *

Sankt Titus, The Great Lake. '01

The village where Sam found some work again was in the middle of nowhere. They had followed a beaten trail away from the lake, up the hills and through a forest. The scent of pines was all around them even when they reached the village. It was quiet and the way people greeted them was friendly enough. They found lodgings in a sleepy little boarding house and for far cheaper than it had been back in the town at the lake front. This was a timeless kind of place, slowed down and unhurried, steady. It wasn't the same atmosphere that the village at the foot of the mountain range had had. That feeling of loss, of stagnation and fading. Dean could breathe in the crisp winter air while sitting at his open window, not fearing the next ambush. There was nothing for Dean to do however. No place that knew what to do with a broken alpha wolf.

"Just recover," Sam told him impatiently a week after they had arrived. "You don't have to work all the time!"

"We need the money, Sam," Dean argued back. "Because no matter how kind your boss is, they'll eventually decide that they've seen enough of us."

"And what if they won't? You don't have to expect the worst all the time!" Sam insisted, but Dean shook his head.

"We've been doing this for over half a year now, Sam. You know how difficult it is," he said. "And seriously. What did you expect?" Sam was silent. "You wanted to run off into the blue and be an exiled wolf. You were grinning happily when we were cast out."

"I thought I'd be able to go to the Kingdom-at-Sea and apply to the royal academy," Sam confessed what Dean already knew.

"And how exactly did you want to accomplish that? All on your own? You had no idea how hard it would be," Dean said, feeling frustrated. He knew he shouldn't take his frustrations out on Sam because he was doing what he could. But Dean had nothing to distract himself from the memories of the four months he had spent working for Alastair. Nothing to do to tire out his mind when all he saw before him was another target, when all he did was listen to every foreign sound and trying to pick apart the scents of people passing by the window.

"I'm managing now, aren't I?" Sam snapped angrily. "I'm the one who has to work and who's earning money while you're wallowing in self-pity and anger!" Dean lifted his head at that, looking at the indistinct form of his brother. He didn't say anything, letting the silence settle heavily after Sam's outburst. Sam deflated.

"Shit. Dean, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I know you've got a good reason to be upset." Dean got up from his chair, not in the mood to listen to this any longer. "Dean, please, just-" Sam sounded genuinely sorry, but Dean was tired. He didn't want to hear it. He didn't want Sam to tell him all the ways that Dean was now damaged because of what he'd sacrificed for Sam's hopes of going to the Kingdom-at-Sea.

The air was crisp when he stepped out of the house. He saw the blurry shapes of buildings, the snow on the cobble stone streets. Dean started walking, with no idea where he was going. When Sam had told him they were in Sankt Titus, Dean didn't know what that meant. They hadn't left the Great Lake territory, at least not yet, but nothing here was as it had been in Ruthporth. He heard the snow crunch under his boots, his tail swish through the powder. It was cold, but an invigorating sort of cold that seemed to eat up his anger.

He walked and walked until his ears were tingling with the cold. It was so silent here that Dean could hear the falling of the snow and his steady breathing. He lifted his head, closing his eyes against the fuzzy whiteness of the sky.

Was this where he and Sam would stay? It wouldn't be that horrible to be buried here, under the heavy, undemanding caress of the snow.

Dean's ears flicked to the side as he noticed a noise in the stillness. Dean opened his eyes and squinted into the street. He followed the noise, unsure what compelled him to. But the further he got, the more he understood. It was a ticking noise. The scent of metal and the fragrance of oil broke through the snow. It was the smell of cogs, small machinery. The soft ticking and the wooden clank of clocks. He followed the noise to a house with a big glass window. There glass was cold under his fingers. He traced his fingertips over the blurred shapes, let them travel to the side over cold stone until he felt wood under his palms.

He knew that it was late in the day, but he tried the door anyway. It turned with a soft click and he pushed the door open a bit. Air, warm and smelling of wood and metal greeted him. He went inside, a small bell tingling overhead. He closed the door and the white world outside was shut out. He was surrounded by the sound of ticking. Dean felt himself relax. Images of home came to his mind. Of the back rooms of the factories where the engineers invented new things, their benches covered with drawings and prototypes. He thought of his small room in the attic, where he had tried to study plans and to pretend that he too could one day sit on one of those big benches and bring about change. Not weapons and machinery. Small things with wheels, communication devices that used electricity, radio transmissions.

Dean felt himself miss it fiercely, a kind of pain spreading in his chest where before there had been nothing but resignation and guilt. Dean should be embarrassed that his eyes filled with tears. Now! Now of all the times he could have cried about what he had had to give up. Standing in this empty shop was where Dean mourned.

"Welcome, Dean."

Dean gave a start, swiftly turning to the side where there was a dark figure standing next to a grandfather clock. Dean hadn't heard him come in, neither had he been able to smell him. He sniffed loudly, but there was nothing. Dean knew that there was a person with him in here, but he might as well be just another grandfather clock for all Dean's senses could perceive him.

"What… How do you…" Dean cleared his throat and tried to regain his composure. He straightened and fully turned to the scentless man. "How do you know my name?"

"I know about everything that happens, Dean," he said ominously and Dean might not be able to see his expression but he heard the smile on his face. There man moved and there was the rhythmic sharp clack of a walking stick on the wooden floor. "So I also know about you." The man came to stand by a counter, placing the stick on the table and putting his folded hands on top of the wood. "Dean Winchester, first born son of John Winchester and Mary Campbell." Dean stared at him, unsure if he should feel threatened. "You are looking for something."

"What? Oh… No. I just… I'm not looking. I can't really…" Dean said and turned towards the shelf to his side. There was a sound that distracted him. "I heard the ticking and just followed my ears."

"Did you." Dean brushed his hand over one of the clocks. A pocket watch, round and dark. He took it into his hand and put it to the side of his face.

"This one sounds off somehow," Dean said and held it out to the man. "Like something isn't working right."

"Is that so," the man said, his voice amused. "Then how about you take it?" Dean widened his eyes in surprise. "Maybe you can fix it and bring it back to me." Dean looked down at the weight in his hand.

"I… don't know… It's all just a blur… I can't see right…," he confessed, but the man seemed to have made up his mind.

"Tessa." Dean heard faint steps and then there was another person, this one with a scent, just as fresh and timeless as the snow. "This young man might need some guidance."

"Of course," Tessa answered and Dean saw her shape move closer to him. She was smaller than him, with dark hair, but white ears that peeked out of the dark strands.

"I will see you soon, Dean," the ominous man said and Dean felt Tessa put her hands on him, gently guiding him to the door.

"Uh, what. Okay? Thanks, Mister…?"

"Death. I am Death," the calm voice came but before Dean could ask bewildered questions the small bell tingled as the door opened and then he and Tessa were outside.

"Death?" he asked breathlessly, not even trying to pull his hand out of Tessa's warm grasp as she pulled him through the street. "His name is Death?"

"That is what he is called. If he has another name, he never shared it with us," Tessa said with a laugh. "But don't be scared of him."

"How can you not be at least a bit creeped out by a guy without a scent, who knows your name and apparently is called Death?" Tessa kept her amused silence. Dean wrinkled his nose, but followed her without further questions. Out here Tessa's scent blended in with the winter cold, but her dark head was easy to follow through the snow. She took him to a house not far from Death's shop. Warm air, a calming scent and the tingling of another bell greeted Dean when he followed her inside. He was guided to a sitting room and made to take a seat in an armchair that was soft and well-worn. Around him the room was a blur of earthy tones and reds. Tessa brought a cup of fragrant tea back with her. She didn't speak while he drank in silence, glad for the warmth but very aware of the fact that her eyes were on him.

"Thanks for the tea," Dean said, lifting his half-full cup from the saucer.

"You're welcome," she replied, her voice sounding eternally patient and Dean felt slightly weird sitting in her room like this, unsure what exactly he was expected to do. Mercifully, Tessa lifted the mystery before Dean had to bring himself to ask: "It seems like you've well-adapted to the partial loss of your vision. But it seems to me like it's something that doesn't have to stay as it is."

"I'm a wolf, we can rely on our noses and ears," Dean said.

"No," Tessa said almost pityingly. "Most of all you are a lost, young man with too many burdens on your shoulders. And even though I cannot lift those for you, I can at least try to guide you. To bring some clarity back into your life." Dean snorted but Tessa was patient. "When was the last time a doctor had a proper look at you?"

"Before exile," Dean said though he couldn't remember when he had last been examined. Probably after Mary fell ill with the sickness and his father had been afraid that it would spread to his sons too. The thought of his mother – no matter how vague – sent pain lacing through Dean and he had to force the worries and wondering down. He was exiled. He could never go back.

"Have you eaten enough since you've been exiled?" Tessa continued her questioning and Dean narrowed his eyes. "You can be honest here."

"Why? Why should I be honest?" Dean asked, feeling almost… vulnerable to be given that freedom by this stranger.

"Because I'm here to help, not to pass judgement," Tessa told him and Dean shook his head in confusion.

"Why?"

"Why help?" Tessa asked and Dean nodded. "You have found your way here to this village. You have found Death and Death saw something in you worthy of preserving and of sheltering. And I trust his judgment. I too see that you are worthy." Dean lowered his head, staring down at the brown carpet beneath his shoes. His cheeks were flaming, not because he was flattered but because he was ashamed.

"I'm not."

"You're not the one to judge," Tessa lectured him, not unkindly. Dean felt her hand wrap around his own which he had balled on his knee. He resisted for a moment but then he uncurled his fingers and let her take his hand. "So, tell me. Have you been eating?" Dean couldn't see her face, but he was sure that she was smiling when he finally relented and told her everything she wanted to know.

* * *

Tessa's assessment was malnutrition, exhaustion and stress. Apparently very common afflictions that contributed to the high mortality of alphas without a pack.

"Also, that bite on your neck…" Tessa said when she visited Dean at home with her fancy brown apothecary's bag. "It's not doing you any favors. There's a chemical imbalance inside of you."

"Chemical what now?" Dean grumbled, unhappy that she didn't care that Sam was sitting in the room with them, eagerly listening to what they were saying.

"Your hormones. Every person has set levels of hormones in their bodies. A claiming bite brings out some and suppresses others. Your alpha nature had to fight the bite every step of the way," Tessa explained. Sure, Dean knew that. The itching, the tender, inflamed skin. Nothing was new to him.

"An alpha's claiming bite fades over time, as soon as the bitten person leaves the alpha. The blood bond fades and Dean can be an alpha again," Sam said with his typical know-it-all voice.

"It's not that easy, Sam," Tessa told him. "A claiming bite alters the entire hormone household of a person. It's not like a piece of clothing which will lose its scent mark over time." Dean looked over at Sam, but he was too far away to make out his expression. The scent was clear though: consternation and maybe a tiny hint of shame. Tessa pulled something out of her box and it looked like a smaller box. "Dean's body tried to fight off the claim as soon as he was away from his father," Tessa continued. "While you were still part of his pack your body instinctively reacted to your father's scent which meant that the claiming bite did proper work to suppress your alpha hormones. The consequences should be known to you."

"Yeah, impotence sucked," Dean lamented, trying to get them to talk about something else.

"Stop downplaying it!" Sam snapped. "What the bite did to you was horrible! Dad should have never demanded it of you!"

"Sam, really? You're preaching to the choir here, don't you think?" Dean told him with a glare and Sam instantly shut up, the scent of guilt hanging in the air heavier now.

"Both of you got sick upon leaving the territory. That's normal, especially if you've never left it before. That, added with Dean's body almost poisoning itself trying to get rid of John's influence AND the rather unfortunate experiences Dean had with this gang of smugglers all contributed to the poor shape you're in now."

"I'm not in poor shape. I'm not dying. I'm just not seeing all that well," Dean muttered and shrugged.

"And as I said, that can be fixed. I can help your body get better, but that's all I can do," Tessa said and then she handed Dean the long box. "You need a pack eventually. You're too young for it to be just the two of you."

"Thank you, Tessa," Sam said when Dean was turning the box around in his hands. Dean opened the box with a small click. Inside were glasses. He could feel Sam's excitement, overriding his own cold feeling of dread.

"You'll probably need glasses for the rest of your life. But we should be able to build up your eyes with proper care, so that you might eventually only need them for reading," Tessa told him gently and took the glasses out of Dean's hands when he hesitated. "Which means…" She put the glasses on his nose and Dean squeezed his eyes shut while she adjusted them. "Three meals a day. Sam has to make sure that not all of the vegetables end up on his plate." Dean slowly opened his eyes, the blurry shapes coming into focus with a couple of blinks. He exhaled in shock, sinking back into his armchair.

"And?" Sam asked impatiently. "Can you really see again?" Dean nodded, pushing his fingers under the heavy glasses. An alpha wolf that needed glasses. Better than being mostly blind he supposed.

"Are you okay, Dean? I'm sorry that we didn't try to get glasses for you before."

"That would have been pointless before the medicine I gave him. Dean's sick, not just short-sighted," Dean heard Tessa say and he turned his head around to look at her. Dean blinked a couple of times in surprise; she was beautiful, with big eyes. The ears poking out of her dark hair were hard for him to place; dark inside and white outside, slightly pointed. Something cat like maybe? There was a long tail resting next to her hip and down on the floor, stripped black and white.

"Dean? Say something man," Sam said and Dean looked towards him. He hadn't seen his brother properly in what felt like an endless time. Sam looked so young and hopeful, but he had been marked by their time in exile. He was a bit thinner now, his hair longer, but he looked healthy and he was smiling.

"I can't believe that the first thing I had to see was your smug face when you heard that I had to eat vegetables," Dean joked and Sam made a wet laughing sound, then he rubbed his eyes.

"Well then. I think I'll leave you boys to it," Tessa said, closing her bag and then standing up. Dean got up too and followed her to the door. It was odd finally seeing their rented lodgings properly. They had two rooms here and it looked cozy if not a bit kitschy.

"Tessa. How can I repay you for this?" Dean asked and saw her mouth form a gentle smile. She had something motherly about herself that was almost weird considering she wasn't any older than him. At least he thought so, it was unnerving not being able to place what exactly she was. But maybe this simply didn't matter that much outside of John Winchester's wolf dominated territory.

"I can see that you won't simply accept good things when they finally happen to you." Dean shrugged. "Then how about you come help out at the pharmacy and run some errands for me? Until the price for medicine and glasses is paid off?"

"That would be great. Thank you, Tessa," Dean said and made a small bow. Tessa laughed at that. "I mean it. Thank you." Tessa's smile turned knowing, then she reached behind her and opened the door that led out into the corridor.

"I know that you will do great things, Dean Winchester," she said then she left Dean to stand in the door and wonder what great things a disaster like him could ever accomplish.

* * *

Winter continued on in a silent manner. It got cold, but never desperately so. By the time the new year rang through the village the roads had become impossible to take, cutting the village off from the outside. But nobody seemed bothered, all of them continued to live their lives in their unfazed way. Sam was doing well here, with the slow pace and the hours after work spent reading by the light of the fireplace. But the winter calm hadn't settled in Dean's chest. He still had the restlessness of a Lawrence winter inside his bones. His mind and hands never quite could get to rest.

"No longer the scrawny little wolf, are you?" Death asked when Dean was pacing through the knee-deep snow, trying to shovel the walkway in front of Tessa's shop free. "Even at…" Death pulled a pocket watch out of his coat. "Five AM."

"What about you?" Dean asked, leaning on the shovel and studying the dark figure in all the white. There was nothing animal about him. No ears, no horns, no tail, no wings. He had of course heard tales of people who were like that. Cursed people that haunted the fairy tales of Dean's childhood. But Dean was no longer a child. Death was just a man, like Dean. "Why are you up so early?"

"I'm always where I'm supposed to be exactly when I'm supposed to be there," Death said ominously and Dean decided not to ask any further. He continued to shovel and tried to ignore Death watching him.

"How is the pocket watch I gave you?" Death asked and Dean stopped shoveling to look at him. "Any luck fixing that poor, broken thing?" The way Death smiled at him it was obvious that he already knew the answer. Dean reached into his pocket and pulled out the dark watch. He opened it and showed it to Death. It was fully functioning.

"I fixed it two days after my eyes returned to normal. But I added some stuff to it as I took it apart and studied it. I wasn't sure if you wanted it back." Death came closer and took the watch. Dean had carved some sigils into it. "I borrowed some stuff from Tessa, made new parts and rebuilt it from the ground up. Now time is ticking again."

"Is it now?" Death asked and took the watch. He looked it over and then he gave it back to Dean. "Very well done."

"Thank you, sir," Dean said and Death turned around.

"Once you're done, you can shovel in front of my shop too. A clockmaker's work starts with the sun. So be there at 8 AM sharp, Mr. Winchester." Dean watched him leave with his mouth hanging open.

* * *

Sankt Titus, The Great Lake. '02

Come spring, the roads up to Sankt Titus were free of snow and lined with snow drops instead. Dean loved his work as Death's apprentice and he knew he was good at what he did. He could, somehow, slowly imagine a life here. Away from everything that had ever bothered him. Away from the factories, away from the blood and war. In a village that seemed to exist somewhat outside of time and space, just slumbering on, gently swept along with the seasons. Sam seemed to like it too, even though both of them would sometimes find themselves staring out of the window towards the snow tipped mountains and wondered what lay beyond. If there was even still a world out there.

Maybe Sankt Titus had made Dean loose that fabled Alpha edge, because when Bela suddenly stood in Tessa's shop, Dean almost hurtled a bottle of castor oil at her. In Dean's mind the scent of her was embedded in a tapestry of blood and death and fear. But here she stood, her dress and hair impeccable, her hair shining, her wings healthy and her lips stained red.

"You're difficult to find, Dean," she said with a big smile. Dean was still holding the bottle in his palm, while Tessa looked on with a calm expression.

"I will prepare you some tea and cake," Tessa suggested and then she disappeared in the back, leaving Dean and Bela alone.

"How did you find me?" Dean asked.

"Why? Were you trying to hide from me?" Bela countered with a cheeky grin. Dean slowly put the bottle back where it belonged and then defensively crossed his arms over his chest. "Look at you. When I last saw you, you were a slip of a thing. I thought you were an omega that Alastair had stolen from a brothel. Look at you now!" She looked him over appreciatingly and Dean let her because yeah… He looked fantastic, even with the glasses. "Less leather and more gentlemanly too I see."

"What can I say? I've become fashionable." Bela laughed at that, but she sobered quickly.

"I was looking for you."

"I gathered. But why? Do you want to say thank you? Or run a blade through me because I stole Crowley's money?" Dean asked with a snort.

"No. Crowley's happy that with your disappearance you took away Alastair's best piece on the chessboard. He hasn't found a replacement for you yet," Bela said and Dean shrugged. He continued to wipe down the counter, a forced ease about him that he hoped would fool Bela. "Crowley wants you to work for him."

"No thank you. No more criminal business. I'm done killing people," Dean said without having to think.

"Crowley isn't a criminal, Dean," Bela said with an amused smile. "Sure, he has done some shady stuff to get control of his territory, but I don't think I have to tell the son of the most powerful weapon manufacturer in the country that." Dean sighed and shook his head. "Crowley doesn't need you to kill anyone, I promise. Crowley wants you as… intel."

"Intel…?" Dean asked and Bela pulled a big notebook out of her bag that she tossed on the counter.

"A spy of sorts, sweetheart. Crowley has a big network of people, but he needs it to expand. If he needs information he'd send you a task and you'd get it to him. It's not easy work. It'll require you to be well-connected and well-established yourself too." Bela looked around in the shop and made an exaggerated show of turning around in it. "I mean look at this! This snoozing town in the middle of nowhere doesn't fit you."

"And how would you know?" Bela lifted an eyebrow. "You've seen me once and I doubt I made the best impression on you. So _how_ would you know what suits me?"

"You're a wolf, Dean. You need a pack and you need a territory. Don't tell me you never let your mind wander?" Bela asked and looked out of the window. "Do you never wonder what lies beyond the forests of St. Titus? If there's not a world out there for you to discover and make your own? There's a place for you in the world. This village is a glorified graveyard, Dean." Dean resolutely stared at the counter. Bela heaved a sigh.

"Have it your way. You'll find me at the hotel," she said and then she left. The big notebook remained on the counter.

"Oh, is she gone?" Tessa wondered when she came back with a tray. "That's a shame."

"I doubt she'll leave without getting what she wants," Dean muttered and took a cup of tea from the tray. Tessa smiled at him, not that Dean had expected anything else.

* * *

The notebook was mostly empty, but it contained maps and the names of people who were on Crowley's "keep an eye on" list. Dean really hadn't wanted to have anything to do with it, but he still corrected some outdated information on it. He had always been intended to take over the work from John, back in the days were his paranoia had been nothing but prudence. Dean knew who had controlled the country before the war and he had an idea of what had changed after it, both from reports that he heard in Lawrence and from the bits and pieces of intel Alastair had given him. It seemed like slowly the chess pieces were getting reassembled, but Dean didn't know what it would lead to. Another war? Or were they finally rewarded with peace? Lucifer was defeated but not dead, Metatron was gone but the Kingdom-at-Sea had another ruler who seemed to have her eyes constantly set towards Schildberg and the pastures in its shadow. And Crowley? Crowley simply wanted to have all of his options open. He was like Dad in that manner. He followed profit and he went where power was. And Crowley seemed to have placed his bets on Kingdom-at-Sea.

"You would help establish peace, Dean," Bela said, sitting on his couch and sipping tea.

"You know that's not true," Dean said, trying and failing to quietly read a book. Bela reached out and pulled it out of Dean's hands. He was surprised to see that her face was serious.

"Dean. Do you know how many people died during this war? And how many people had to abandon their homes?" Dean nodded somberly. "Many territories are empty. There's just nothing at the border to the Pasture. If anyone from the Sulphur lands decided to arm and march into the country, do you think Michael would be able to protect everyone? The Pasture is not Winchester with its weapons and its walls."

"So what?" Dean asked, frowning at her. "Crowley wants me to be a knight in shining armor and protect poor little lambs?"

"Not _quite_ ," Bela said with an expression that was half smile and half something else. She was keeping something from him and expecting Dean to just go with it. "The territory is empty. Why not settle there? Currently the territory belongs to some guy that is willing to sell it for very little. And what do you think they would think about getting the protection of a wolf?"

"Then why doesn't Crowley buy it?"

"Because it wouldn't be a good move. Crowley makes long-term plans. And having a Winchester wolf right there in that critical and previously picturesque region? That would be ideal," Bela said. "And you can't tell me that you don't want to move away from here."

"I like it here. I've got a job, Sam's got a job. We're doing well," Dean said with a snort. Bela rolled her eyes.

"So you choose this over being pack alpha?" Bela challenged and Dean flinched. "This boring little town in the middle of nowhere. Where you'll live and die without anyone noticing that you were ever there. If that’s what you truly want then Crowley has the wrong wolf." Bela got up on her feet and put on her coat, her wings easily slipping through the slits.

"I can't just make a decision like that on my own! I've got to ask Sam, I've got to think about finances and how we'd survive and-" Dean protested but Bela shut him up with a stern look.

"You have thought about this all before, Dean. You know exactly what you'd do. You can't fool me, Dean. You're an alpha. You're just dying to prove yourself," she said and Dean glared at her. "And did Sam think about what you wanted when he forced you to leave Lawrence?"

"Let me think," Dean ordered and Bela widened her eyes slightly. "I will find you tonight and tell you my decision."

"Well," Bela said and shrugged. "Excellent then!" She left the house with a wink sent his way and Dean rubbed his forehead. Then he got up. He had to talk to Sam. If he was going to be an alpha, he didn't want to be one who made all the decisions on his own. He wanted to have a pack and he wanted to do right by them.

* * *

 

Kleeweiden, capital of Dean Winchester's territory. '02

Dean was now the proud owner of… ruins. Dean and Sam were driving their cart into the village closest to the border to the Pasture. The road sign had identified it as Kleeweiden, a pasture typical name. Dean could already see that this village, or rather town, used to be a wonderful and busy place. The buildings were relatively big, beautiful townhouses that had all been abandoned as the war tore through the lands. But they weren't all ruined, most of it could be saved with a little effort and money. Time hadn't stood still in this abandoned town but it hadn't filled the streets with despair and filth like it had done all along the edge of Winchester territory.

"I almost feel like a thief," Sam said and flinched when his voice echoed in the house that Dean had chosen. Three stories high, more rooms than Dean knew what to do with. It would provide them with ample comfort. "People had to leave everything behind and nobody ever came back. How can that be? And now we're owning all of this? Two wolves looking over dozens of abandoned villages?" Dean put down his bag in the dusty sitting room. Most of the furniture had been left behind. Dean pulled aside the blinds to look out into the generous garden, overgrown with lilies of the valley. "Dean?" Dean turned around to look at his brother's somber face. "What will we do?"

"I will make sure that this town has water and gets connected with trade so that we won't starve. I'll introduce myself to the few people who are now under our care. What you'll do, Sam, is go to the town hall and look into the archives. Your task is to find out who used to live here and where they went. Once we know we'll send them letters. We are looking to build a pack, Sam. So we'll need people." Sam smiled at him and Dean looked at him defensively. "What…?"

"I know you'll be a great alpha, Dean," his brother said with a shrug, then he quickly disappeared, leaving Dean standing in the room, feeling elation and fear war within himself. Would he though? He left the house and stepped back outside. The sun was warm and the scent of spring heavy in the air. He let his feet guide him, looking at the place that he had only seen maps of. There were shops with barred windows, market stalls hidden away in a shed, a town hall, a small library, a school. Dean walked to the edge of town, raised slightly on a hill. He could see to the Pasture, that lay in the full sun, just beyond a patch of wood and a small glittering stream.

Dean took a deep breath. This was what he had. Ruins on which to build. It was all just potential and not a small deal of hope.

The world had changed for him now. He no longer was waiting to fade away in a grey town that held nothing but shame and grief and profound longing. He was here now, alive. Dean Winchester, clockmaker. Dean Winchester, spy.

Sam came to him, a big smile on his face and a book in his arms. He was so tall now that it was hard to imagine that he had been a child the last time Dean had been living as his own person.

"And? What do you think of your new territory?" Sam asked with a grin, looking towards Schildberg.

"I'm sorry that we couldn't get you to Kingdom-at-Sea," Dean said and Sam shot him a dark look. "Really. I am."

"Dean… I know that I've been selfish and that you've done more for me than I can ever repay you for." Dean shook his head. "I know I'll be happy here, Dean. Call it instinct or something. And I'm glad that if I'm part of a pack again, that it'll be yours." Dean shot him a small and shy smile.

"You really think that?" Sam nodded a couple of times, then he patted Dean's shoulder and turned back to their house to do the task Dean had given him.

Dean couldn't wipe the smile off his face now. Why was he so happy? He had ruined lands as his territory and no pack. Why would he be happy now? But he was, he just was. For the first time in such a long time, he felt like he could breathe freely.

"Work awaits," he said, speaking the promise into the spring breeze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed it! ♥

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts! ♥


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